


Bad Things for Santa

by spnsmile



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Case Fic, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Christmas Smut, Cute Castiel (Supernatural), Cute Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester is Protective of Castiel, Dubious Consent, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fucking, Gay Sex, Idiots in Love, It's For a Case, Jealous Castiel (Supernatural), Jealous Dean Winchester, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Romantic Fluff, Sex, Smut, Stripper Dean Winchester, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21835687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnsmile/pseuds/spnsmile
Summary: Working on a case on Christmas eve, Castiel learns traditionally what Santa is supposed to be for children. He just is not prepared what Santa is supposed to be for adults in a strip club. He is also not prepared Santa has these ridiculous green eyes winking at him from the stage pole.Why is Dean... oh...
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 114





	Bad Things for Santa

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPNTC Christmas Mini 2019 Trope Bad Santa!   
> I always thought Dean's element is really a stripper. Don't think you can convince me he didn't. xD  
> Castiel's in for surprises!  
> See the tags! This is Christmas Case-Smut!  
> Enjoy!  
> @Rebel *waves*

“Cas, who’re you talkin’ to on the phone again? We’re on a friggin case.” Dean snaps just as Castiel hastily pushes his mobile deep in his coat pocket, like Dean’s planning to get it.

“Nothing.” He says gruffly. He knows Dean doesn’t believe him the way the hunter’s eyes narrow. Dean shifts on his feet, surveying Cas with question in his green eyes. Castiel tries to act innocent but the constant avoidance of eye contact is giving him away.

“Cas, that don’t look nothing to me. Who you’ve been talking to? You’ve been like that since this morning.”

Castiel squints at Dean but did not say anything.

“Leave him alone, he’s entitled to his own privacy, Dean. Stop acting like a jealous bitch.” Sam interrupts loud enough to get their attention.

“I’m not the bitch, bitch.”

“Shut up, jerk. Just come in here for a sec, I’m going to read the report on the body. As Sam walks away, Dean and Castiel stand side by side beside a fresh corpse inside the morgue. Dean reaches and lifts the blanket covering it. His face screws.

“Another monster for Christmas special.”

Castiel controls himself. He tries not to lean too much on the deceased body on the morgue table. He’s learned time and again it’s not the best way to assess a cause of death, being on the roll with the Winchesters for years now. So, he reserves himself, holding himself uptight with eyes narrowing at the corpse as Dean pulls the sheet back up to cover its mauled form.

“There goes my breakfast.” He says with a wrinkle of his nose.

Cas gives him a silent look to which Dean responds with a longer one, before the hunter nods at the body. Sam is turned against them, busily digesting the content of the info sheet clipboard he’s reading. Both Winchesters are in their FBI suits

“What you think, Cas?” Dean says. “Cut right through the abdomen, organs disposed replaced by straws? I mean, neat job for a human with fetish on Japanese hara-kiri even if he’s Jack the Ripper reaper.”

“Hara-kiri is self- inflicted.” Cas replies with narrowed eyes. “This is not self-inflicted, Dean. This is a work of a pagan god.”

Dean makes a face.

“Yeah, I know that, what I mean is— this look familiar to you? I know Sammy can sniff out the monster like a good german shep but then here’s an angel ready to literally cut out work for us, so spill.”

Cas takes another long look at the frame of the male body, before catching Dean’s eyes again. “Well, it’s Bertha.”

“Bertha like— Mercedes Bertha?”

“I don’t know her.”

“It’s a _car.”_ Dean’s jumping on Cas who only rolls his eyes because Dean and his passion for automobile. Castiel glares. Dean glares. Then they’re both shaking their heads in amusement. Except Castiel is much more patient when it comes to the hunter.

He can’t help it, he likes Dean that way and wouldn’t want him any other way. Still, he snaps as he usually does when relaying quite common information. Quite similar to the way Dean always makes him feel he is missing out on something important. Though, in reality it does not have affect on current situations, Dean making him feel inferior on knowledge always has Castiel want to eagerly show him he is competent, so he listens. Dean has a way on making things appear _very important._

“Bertha is a pagan god from the Alpine region. Basically, from the same folklore as the Krampus opposite what you call ‘Santa Claus’— why are you smirking?”

“You said Santa Claus.”

“So?”

“Thought you said the beardy ol’ man in his red pajamas don’t exist.”

“I did not say he didn’t exist. You will be surprise to know how simple thoughts can manifest itself in reality just because people _believe._ That’s fate, Dean—”

“Alright— _alright—geez, you always pull the gun from the ass, don’t ya?_ What is it about St. Claus and Bertha, then? Some infidelity issues Mrs. Claus’s not supposed to know about? Is Bertha the sexy mistress elf?”

Castiel rears back to the main point, hiding his mirth behind a grumpy expression because Dean looks agitated for some reason. He notes on always riling Dean like that. Dean’s whole soul brightens more despite the rally of words. Castiel understands Dean really thrives on chaos. The bitch and the jerk rally is still a mystery to him though, it sounded like curse words laced with affection from the brothers.

“I would not describe an ‘elf’ sexy—”

“Thought you watched _Lord of the Rings_ with me—you saw the Elf—”

“Dean, please,” Castiel rolls his eyes again in annoyance—the second time in the span of two minutes. “I’m trying to make you understand this pagan—”

“But Legolas _is hot—”_

_“_ He’s also an actor who by the way has a demon deal but got spared because hell’s in chaos and no demon would like to go near him because he is Aphrodite’s favorite _—now will you pay attention?”_

He clenches his fist and gives Dean a very hard look. Dean winks at him.

Castiel stares harder. _If Dean’s soul didn’t look so happy…_

“Alright, love-birds.” Sam says, stepping between the two with eyes on the body, “If you’re done with the early squabble, let’s get this case wrapped up before Santa actually makes another murder.”

“What you found on Bertha?” Dean pinches his nose with his fingers. Cas glares at him.

“Enough background. He’s Tom McKinley from Montreal, 32, working as a bookkeeper in the morning and alias ‘Undertaker’ in the evening at Shady Lads club.”

Dean whistles as he and Castiel look down the corpse.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Castiel sharply turns at Dean whose face has lit up like a lamp just turned on his side.

“Shady Lads club, Cas.” Dean grins easily. Castiel shakes his head.

“I meant the whistle. I understand love birds have very specific tone they make when they want to mate. What you just did sounded like—”

“I’m not fucking any birds, Cas, the hell’s wrong with you? If you wanna know, Shady Lad’s club is a stripper’s club, alright?”

“Oh.” Castiel thinks back to his first time in a strip club. Memories both pleasant and unpleasant makes the angel tip his head on the side. “I still don’t understand the whistle, Dean—”

Dean exchanges a very exasperated look with Sam who’s looking contemplative at the body again. The older hunter turns to him and curtly nods.

“Spill it.”

“I think it really has something to do with a Yule pagan god.” Sam explains, “Cas, this Bertha you said is opposite Santa Claus? Meaning instead of giving gifts to children, it punishes people who did bad deeds?”

“Not necessarily. All this gift-giving Santa Claus came from the same myth and folklore with just different name anyway. The Bertha or Perchta as German calls it, is also the same.” Cas likes talking to Sam. Sam makes conversation easy. He likes Dean above all else, but sometimes the man can really be infuriating. “The only difference is your Christian Santa doesn’t really punish children, only leave them giftless which is rather unreal for pagan gods who turns maliciously wrathful. For the bad, idle and greedy, the Bertha does this”—he gestures at the body— “it cuts you open, pull out your guts and replace it with rocks and straws. It will then sew your body close and go to the next victim. Like your Santa, it does not work alone. As I recall, elves are his slaves.” Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean because the hunter has the gull to wink at him again, “The Bertha is usually accompanied by a throng of demonic helpers hoping for the Bertha’s blessings and leftovers.”

“But they are demons?” Dean’s face screws into serious mode.

“A lesser kind, but yes. Not powerful enough to be a threat to you and afraid of my celestial presence. The mere glance in my direction can burn them out so they try to keep away as much as possible.”

“So what, you’re like literal Mr. Hottie Sunshine to them?”

“In literal language, yes.” The angel amends quietly.

Dean whistles again, this time at Cas.

The angel squints and tries to marvel on the meaning of that. If there’s a tiny color on Dean’s cheeks, he wants to know the meaning of that too. Except Sam’s clearing his throat and pulling on his phone and typing.

“This isn’t really the first kill according to the state reports. There’s another Greg Dowel and Louie James Cleve—it’s basically a serial case the local police had been working on. Both found dumped on ducts outside the perimeter. There’s this other dude who survived the attack claiming he’s seen the monster but the police noted it as drug use. He’s currently in his apartment and won’t take anyone for questions. But get this— _he works in the same strip club._ ”

The brothers shared a passing look. Cas tries to get the meaning behind the amused expression on Sam’s face and Dean’s hidden excitement, his body is practically shaking.

There seems to be an understanding between the two, because Sam is shaking his head this time with a frown on his brother.

“No playing around, Dean.”

“Aw, c’mon. Since when did I—”

“I’ll kill you if I find your body on the morgue with rocks for intestine.”

That alarms Castiel. Much more with Dean’s cheeky grin.

“At least I died smiling. That’s all I ever wanted.” He winks at his brother.

“Die with rocks in your stomach?” Sam asks testily.

“ _Happy, doofus!”_

“What’s going on? Why are we talking about dying and smiling?” Castiel takes steps toward the Winchesters, closer in particular to Dean who has to lean his head away because the angel’s forehead nearly knocks on his own.

“We’re going undercover.” He supplies meaningfully.

“I will check on the latest victim, see that he’s no longer in danger. Do the drill. We need to know what’s the common denominator in these attacks.”

“Isn’t it obvious? Working in a strip club’s kinda sinful.” Dean licks his lips and Castiel senses it again, Dean’s excitement. It’s a tiny stirring in his soul, like those that Castiel notices every time he watches Dr. Sexy with Dean. Some calls it the _libido._ Interesting.

“Yeah, then why not attack all night clubs every year? Why now?” Sam pockets his phone, “And I’m not going in that strip club, Dean. Whatever you have in mind, just be careful, alright? I don’t want a dead body for a brother on Christmas eve. Bring Cas with you.”

Dean quickly looks at Castiel, then quickly looks away nodding.

“What are you two—?” Castiel’s heart did a summersault—

“Then let’s cut to the chase and get this Bertha’s ass handed back to her.” Dean shrugs after an ample time of looking at Castiel’s hard squint at him, “Uh… Cas, you’ll go with me all cause’ I need backup in case—"

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel says decidedly. It’s not like he can leave Dean’s side when Sam’s all hinted something really dangerous can happen. What he doesn’t understand is the excitement Dean is emitting. He knows many humans who really thrives in battle, soul boiling in excitement for blood. Dean’s almost the same. Except he’s excited for an entirely different reason.

Whatever it is, Castiel decided he is going to look after Dean’s back. The hunter is not reckless, but as they walk toward the impala to head straight for the motel they rented, he’s sure Dean’s up to something for some reason. His bowl legs are all but bouncing in his steps. Castiel finds the corner of his lips curling to a small smile.

Dean Winchester and his secrets. Castiel always find it appealing. Like a mystery he needs to sort out layer by layer. Dean can take his attention like how watching the bees can engage him. Dean who’s wrapped up in his clandestine armor making all angels curious to take a look. Castiel has seen it. How his adorable human charge can be a little rough on the edges, but still deserving of heaven. Except Dean could careless about that. It’s always living in the moment for his friend.

The Winchesters always speak of death lightly as only they could, but the angel is not eager to test fate. He will protect them.

So, whatever this Bertha is punishing men for, Castiel is sure to eliminate her before it touches Dean. No one takes away Dean’s light like that. Not with Castiel around.

* * *

The impala radio hits up the high note of a Christmas song—and Castiel is snorting before Dean who looks sideways to the angel, smiling fondly.

“What? Found another insult to classic songs?

Castiel simply smiles back, eyes wrinkling up. The song hits up the same lyrics and Castiel is shaking his head.

“Humans definitely would not want to _hear the angel’s voices,_ Dean.”

“Tell me about it.” Dean rolls his eyes, remembering. “You have a bad habit of doin’ that, Cas, makes me think you’re only enduring my company to share what you think.”

“Don’t worry about my endurance, I can last for ages.”

“Seems like a promise.” Dean wriggles both eyebrows with intended meaning that Castiel finds quite interesting. Is Dean hinting—?

“I’m not going to do hand combat with you, Dean.” He shifts in his chair uncomfortably, not liking the idea one bit. Yes, he did beat up Dean before, but that’s before he actually began caring for Dean. The moment he understood the kind of person Dean is under all his hard exterior and accursed tongue, he knows he’d go down with him.

Dean stirs the wheel to the left with a big grin eating his face.

“Lemme get that then, before you decide to make a list to butcher other songs. You did twelve days the honor and I can’t listen to it the same way without thinking of Gabriel in a harem of nine ladies.” He changes the station, then altogether dropped it to play his own tape. He snorts and adds, “Or ten leaping men.”

“It’s a song about Gabriel.” Castiel supplies in gravelly voice.

“And jingle bells?”

“Use in rituals to call spirit of the winter god to accept sacrifices. It’s common idea the creature is riding a sleigh, if you understand what I mean.”

“Santa’s ride, bingo. Makes the song much exciting.” Dean licks his lips, to where Castiel has to pull his eyes away from and clutch his fingers.

“It is not. Pardon my ignorance, but I don’t understand what excites you with strip clubs, either, Dean. You’ve been to many so many times, what is the difference of seeing human skin shred clothing one by one?”

“Speak for yourself, you barely made it out alive with your first strip club, buddy.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “It was unprecedented, Dean, I had no way to deal with an order I did not receive from heaven back then. Right now, I am more knowledgeable seeing as I have watched many from your laptop.”

Dean chokes for some reason. Then glares. “I never let you watch—”

“I find them when you leave your laptop on.”

“Hey, how many times— _did you look at the Batman folder?!”_

Castiel only looks out the window. Dean turns bright red with eyes widening a little. The silence is palpable, Castiel shakes it away, choosing Dean than the discomfort.

“My point is, what you see on the screen is as good as real, don’t you think?”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong Cas. You’ve never been to a gay bar or strip club, right?”

“Somehow it tells me of men in their undergarments. I fail to see the appeal. Have you?”

“Thought you were guarding me since the beginning, how could you not know?” Dean chuckles, making Castiel look contemplative for a moment.

Dean parks in front of a sharply turned building with bright lights of pink and red that read _Shady Lad’s_. The angel squints at it, feeling Dean breathe caught in his throat. Castiel can see many people, men particularly in cowboy hats enter and leave with the same smile Dean just shared not moments ago. He turns to Dean to find him all looking bedazzled, his pupils dilated, green rim in anticipation.

“Your blood pressure, Dean.” Castiel reminds him kindly, placing a calming hand on the hunter’s shoulder and using his grace. Dean glances back, snapping from the trance.

“Uh… I’ve never been in these parts.” He explains and Castiel finds the sudden sheepishness in his voice kind of submissive. It made the angel straighten his back because Dean isn’t… he’s never known Dean to take the backseat when it comes to speaking. This strip club must really be getting in his head.

“I don’t require explanation for the way you are as long as you are okay. I’m not sure you are?” Castiel says, not letting go of the hunter’s shoulder. Dean looks him in the eyes, really looks him and Castiel caught a glimpse of the hunter’s nervousness amidst the excitement. Castiel shakes his head.

“Maybe you should go back?” the angel suggests, not liking the rising heat from his charge. He is after all, very much linked to Dean’s soul, has claimed it and all. “I can handle everything here.”

“What you gonna do to fish the monster out?”

“What I can. That’s what we do, Dean. Make it as we go.” The angel shrugs.

“Geez, Cas, who taught you to be reckless like that?” But Dean visibly relaxes, his back leaning more comfortably on his seat, his easy smile greeting the pleased angel.

“Dean Winchester.” Cas blurts out drily. Dean bursts out laughing.

“That what you told them in heaven when they interrogated you bout’ why you’re rebelling?”

“Not exactly.” Castiel imitates the hunter as they both get out of the car door, walking mutually towards each other. “I told them humanity must be served as how we angels were taught to be from the beginning.”

“And you don’t think your brothers were making free will choosing not to side with messy humans? You don’t think they’ve already begun their rebellion by not uh… you know… bothering with us?”

“I still don’t share the same view.” Castiel falls a step beside Dean as they make their way towards the bar entrance, Dean taking out his fake ID and give one to the angel. “Whether they made a choice or not, simply ending the world out of whim to get our father out is not a calling, but purely slaughter. I do not wish to serve my father’s creations thus.”

“Ah, kinda ‘decide you must how to serve them best’, huh?”

“Yes. Like Yoda.” Cas nods, appearing beside Dean in front of two muscle men in tight black shirt. Dean gives them his most charming grin and shows his fake card. Castiel did the same— checking if the card is upside down—showing it to the guards still upside down. The angel shakes his head when they manage to enter.

“Why is it always upside down.” He mutters as they enter the narrow passage way onto the dancing lights. Dean brushes his shoulder and points ahead of them.

They step into a club so lively Castiel has to take one whole look around before everything registers. The dark ceiling hides painted pipe lines with disco balls hanging on them. The green walls reflect the blip of colors pouring in every direction. Christmas lights and other ornaments cover the corners with mistletoes and wreathes.

The stage where people are gathered on their seat is empty and there’s an unusual excitement in the air

“You think three deaths in a row would make this place less crowded.” He hears Dean says above the noisy clattering and unpleasant modern music. Castiel feels Dean’s hand pushing him on his lower back towards the bar stool. They both sit there, the angel turning his eyes at his friend.

“What’s the plan?”

“Strip club, Cas. What do you think is our undercover plan?” Castiel stares at his friend. All because Dean is in the mood to tease him.

“Oh. Alright then.”

Dean turns shock as the angel begins to pull his tie loose with grumpy eyes scanning his surrounding for any sign of the pagan god.

“Woah, eager cowboy, not you.” Dean says, wrapping his warm hand at the back of Castiel’s palm already pulling on his tie. Castiel is halfway removing his coat when the hunter did, making Castiel frown. There’s an unusual red tinge in Dean’s cheeks again, only it’s with a deep frown.

“It’s okay, Dean, I can—”

“Get a life!” Dean barks irritably out of nowhere to Cas’ right. Turning, the angel sees two middle aged men eyeing his trench coat with smirks. They turn away when Dean pulls Castiel’s coat up his shoulder a little roughly, before he is turning Castiel towards the table. “Sorry, buddy, but no stripping accountant booked today.”

Castiel likes the way Dean wraps his arms around his hips for some reason, even if Dean doesn’t seem to notice. The angel has always liked close proximity with his profound charge. He can’t help not looking at Dean’s too familiar face smiling. Whatever just happened, Dean’s suddenly all thinking about him.

It’s nice.

“Don’t strip.” Dean tells him, demands of him. “Pretty accountant guy in all those layers make people excited, y’know.”

“I won’t. But what am I going to do?”

“Sit and stay on my line of sight. Where I can see you, I’ll do the work from the luring and trapping. You do your mojo and just not the stripping part. My point is, you’re not going undercover, alright? I’ll do that. Whatever. Leave it to the expert.”

“Okay, Dean.” Castiel lets go of his tie. Dean fussily fixes it. “What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

“Okay… but what do you want me to do? I’ll do anything you say, Dean.”

The hunter snaps his head up so quickly, a vein must’ve popped on his neck. Red marks on his cheeks are back, making his already visible freckles turn a darker spot. Castiel eagerly leans forward, liking the way Dean suddenly is squirming under his gaze. Also, Dean must’ve hurt his neck so he wants to heal him quick.

“Dean?”

In turn, Dean Winchester pinches his right cheek and pull till the angel can suck in cool air. Castiel doesn’t flinch. It doesn’t even hurt but he frowns at the hunter all the same. Dean looks grimly down at him.

“You don’t go saying bad things like that, Cas, okay? That’s some mighty power you’re givin’ away. You hear?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just stay here, watch my back, watch _your back_ and watch out for the monster. In any case, it’d be going after me once the show is over. Give me a signal if you see it. Otherwise, we’d have to wait till I can lure it out.”

“What makes you think it’ll come after you so quickly?” Castiel inquires, once Dean has removed his fingers. The angel doesn’t bother rubbing his red cheek. Dean lingers in front of him. The pain subsides away.

“I’ll make him. I’m good at that.” The hunter quips. “You stay on lookout.”

“Why am I always on the lookout.” Cas’ eyes narrow.

“Cas, what did we talk about when on the field?”

Castiel blinks, then drops his eyes.

“You’re the commando.”

Dean laughs, making Cas look up at the fondness it sent. “Not commando, Cas, though that’ll happen later… so uh, yeah, I’m lead, you’re my sidekick and right now I’m the bad ass that monster would want to prey on. At least I think if it’s just about misdeeds, I have that covered. Hell ascend and all.”

“You’re not bad, Dean.”

“You’re supposed to say the opposite.”

“Not the opposite.” Cas says grumpily.

Dean smiles when the crowd starts clapping and cheering in front of the stage as five male strippers come out in line wearing nothing but their bulky red underwear and garlands on each of their wrists. Castiel doesn’t give them heed, eyes on the hunter.

“You sure it will work?”

“If it doesn’t, we’re still undercover. Just—don’t talk to anyone here, okay? _Don’t leave with anyone except me.”_ Dean’s hand is suddenly grasping Castiel’s left wrist, holding it tight, making the angel blink.

“Why would I leave you here, Dean. You have the key to the car.”

Dean snorts.

“Just don’t let anyone bother you, okay? They do that, I give you permission to do your you know—badass angel thing.”

“Angel thing.” Castiel repeats, as if tasting the words with heavy brows together. He stays his eyes on Dean, the hunter still staring at him with a mix of uncertainty and suspicion as he cast his eyes around. Immediately, Castiel’s blue eyes narrows because Dean is showing what any humans he’d been seeing do when they are positioning themselves a territory.

Is Dean being… territorial? Of him?

“I’ll be fine, Dean.” Castiel can only say, not because he has less discernment of the situation, but because Dean is looking very bothered for some reason. “You do your hunter thing… I’ll do mine.”

Dean grumpily returns attention to him, like Castiel is doing something constitutional. But the glimmer in his eyes disappear to a softer one.

“Yeah, just don’t talk to strangers.”

“Maybe you should apply that yourself.”

Dean grins again, then to the angel’s satisfaction, Dean touches his cheek softly this time like a passing caress. But it’s the look of affection in those green eyes that caught the angel breathless. The touch lingers even when Dean’s fingers are long gone and the hunter is jogging towards the back stage with two men stopping him to check his identity. Castiel watches Dean confidently show his fake cards, then looks back at him and give the angel a wink.

Castiel smiles in spite of himself, bowing his head and clasping his hands together on the counter. The lights drastically change color to only purple, the spotlight being to the men now waggling their thighs to the crowd. Castiel gives a moment pause, watching the men strip out of their undergarment and throw the tiny laces to the crowd. The heat Dean left at the pit of his stomach doesn’t go away. It’s like having his own well of lava that refuses to disappear. He wonders what he will get Dean for Christmas then.

Castiel is not a believer of Christmas having known for a fact how the pagans began it, but the tradition is well and alive in Dean’s time. He’s been participating in it, enjoying the look of delight and amusement on the Winchester’s face every time he shows up with different gifts from across the region.

Of course, Sam and Dean always dissuade him from spending, but Cas has noted on that intense feeling of just _giving_ without expecting anything in return. Somehow, being able to do that, having the capacity to do that enables him to feel he is still fulfilling his duties as an angel, fallen or not.

And Dean would always be delighted with everything he gives. It’s always easy to please Dean especially since he knows Dean’s favorite pie.

The angel wrinkles his nose when he is distracted by the loudness of the audience egging the strippers and decides to look around to the viewers enjoying such sinful display.

If he is to be honest, this is nothing compare to the Roman’s Saturnalia celebration where nakedness is partly because they worship their bodies. Nowadays, humans can go off, in Dean’s term, by letting others worship their bodies and uh, kinks. Right.

Not that Castiel can relate. He doesn’t do worshiping nor let anyone worship him. He takes notes of the humans partaking in the entertainment, mentally scoping and identifying those too suspicious. He doesn’t see any hint of demons around, surprisingly, just humans enjoying their iniquitous call of body needs. Castiel, being almost a human for many months, understands. No demons here. Just humans being humans.

“What will you have, pretty?” says a deep, drunken voice beside Castiel.

The angel turns to see a tall man drop on the empty seat beside him with the most obvious interest in his dark eyes. Castiel looks him squarely in the eyes.

“I don’t drink.”

“And I’m a priest.” The tall man snickers.

“No, you’re not.” Castiel looks the other way to keep his guarding duties when the man grasps his shoulder. The angel’s just done with the shit.

“How d’you know? You look like you’re someone who’d like to know—”

Castiel taps his forefinger on the man’s head who fell on the floor with a thud. The angel extracts his eyes away from the human to the stage, both on lookout for Dean and the monster. He sees the five men about to end their number, all naked and shining from the cream they’ve been playing around. Then they join the crowd from some handsies.

Castiel tilts his head.

The inappropriate display of men letting their genitals hang in front of the excited crowd with touches and caresses doesn’t mean anything to him. What did, was the next person who came on stage—and that wrecks on Castiel’s guard like a catapult crashing down on him, the heaven may as well drop thousand burning stars in his direction.

Dean Winchester’s descent is nothing Castiel can imagine. Dean has always been beautiful but right then, like he’s on his element, Dean shone. He can hear the crowd’s breath hitch at the sight of splendor when the man finally comes to the spotlight and steps up his game—like a god from Mt. Olympus just descended in their midst to grace their eyes with heaven.

Broad, shiny skinned, all muscles and pectorals in right places, Castiel’s face form the same horror as he recognized him and couldn’t mistake those bowlegs— Dean w-walking the stage when the five men mingled with the hungry crowd, on his own and wearing—what is Dean wearing?!

The crowd loses it as the handsome hunter comes forward, all confident in gait and smiles flashing in every direction with nothing but a Santa hat to protect his head from what it can, a string around his neck attached to a red cape, his wrists band of wreath and bells, then his red shorts with its button undone, letting people peak at that high hipbones. His family jewel hard and bouncing as he made his strut.

_“Our sexy santa who will claw your Christmas! Santa Claws!”_ comes the announcer.

Castiel shakes his head. That’s no Santa Claws—there’s no such thing. What is Dean doing? Castiel finds himself staring mesmerized as Dean slays the floor, strutting and turning to the salivating crowd, his ass mound and perky, as Castiel never remembered it to be. The crowd goes wild, wanting to touch, to pull, to lick Dean maybe.

The angel moves though he doesn’t know when. He just moves and finds himself down the stage where Dean is heading. Dean sees him and walks purposely straight to the angel.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Castiel holds Dean’s gaze, wanting to make sure his friend is not possessed or anything. The jangling bulge on that red short is utterly distracting.

But Dean only winks at him, then reaches a finger and run it from the angel’s throat to the end of his sharp chin, tilting it up. Castiel’s lips drop open.

“Dean…?”

But Dean is moving away on to the other part of the stage where the crowd is demanding his attention. Castiel makes it positive he will never forget how Dean’s butt just seem to have a life of its own. The angel blinks at the crowd, looks at them as they feast their eyes on Dean.

A stab of overprotectiveness and jealousy he’s never felt before fills him. Suddenly, he wants to go up there and cover Dean with his trench coat. To hide Dean from all the eyes and keep him away. Those hands touching Dean’s hips, he wants to burn them away, he didn’t linger on the thought, knowing well it can happen. But he’s rooted on the spot, following Dean with his eyes as he playfully dances in front of another guy.

Castiel stops breathing as the guy jumps up the stage and wraps his long arms around Dean and cups his ass. The angel almost slips the angel blade down—almost rips the man away, but Dean’s grinning like he’s liking all the attention—and Castiel would never—will never do anything to keep Dean from smiling.

This is just a case—an undercover job, the angel raptly reminds himself.

Except Dean’s too _in it,_ like how he would always be when he’s doing something, he loves from cosplaying cowboys and playing doctors. And all Castiel can do is stare at his beautiful friend who barely glance in his direction. A pinch of pain around his chest. Castiel wants to call Dean, but what for? Dean will just shrug him off anyway, always on his line of decadence that never seems to involve Castiel no matter how many times Dean appear to be flirting with him. They will always just best _buddies._

Castiel bites his lips.

Who’d want a fallen angel anyway?

The music begins playing in fast beats. The crowd begins dancing as the four men from the floor rejoin Dean up the stage. Dean is all smile as he and his bare companions begin forming line. Then the crowd is shouting for Dean to remove his Santa short. The hunter did, much to Castiel stepping forward, all instincts to pull Dean down the same time the hunter removes the red short only to reveal an equally red thong. The crowd seems wanting to rip the stage away at the visible length stashed up sinfully, peaking from the garment. Castiel has never felt dizzy and breathless at the same time. He doesn’t sweat under any circumstances, but this maybe the first.

Dean is teasingly flipping his fingers on the band of the thong. Castiel just wants to wrap him in his trench coat. Maybe he should. The chances of Dean getting angry? Pretty swell. But Castiel will take that anyway, he just can’t imagine a crowd of people leering at his friend’s _swell_ like it wants to pop out and cause the launching of a heavenly being smiting all eyes from the crowd. Castiel knew he shouldn’t, but Dean’s testing him.

Surely, Dean is. But he’s never looked in Castiel’s way again.

The four men around Dean seems like the icing in the cake. The hunter was slotted in the middle and together, they all raise their hands above their heads and does this sexy round of hip that gets the crowd screaming for more. Then they turn their back.

Castiel wants to cry out. This definitely is more than just an undercover. How the heck does Dean know that routine? And why are those four suddenly facing towards Dean, like they plan to take him on what Dean once described as a groupie?

They huddle around him, Castiel can’t see pass those large shoulders and thighs. Then Dean’s thong comes up in the air and the crowd cheers, screams and about all the hellish sound on earth.

“Dean—” Castiel’s voice is soft as a whisper but he gets pulled back away from the stage.

Anger fills the angel, until he feels hot lips wrap about his closed mouth, kissing on him hungrily. Blinking, he finds himself getting kissed by the fifth stripper who is wearing a Santa hat with red pointy Rudolf blinking at the top. He’s much larger than the rest of the dancers, easily towering Castiel, but surely not stronger. Castiel would have flipped him if not for the intense feeling of something dark suddenly lurking around.

Castiel snaps his head to his right.

_Oh. The Bertha’s here._ He’s got to tell Dean.

The angel is taken by surprise, before he’s being pushed backwards forcefully by the unknown guy. The back of his knees hit something hard and he comes down, butt first on a chair in the middle of the room. Castiel gapes around, uncertain and frustrated. The crowd cheers and dances around him like some sort of ritualistic event, only he is the sacrificial lamb. Grunting, the angel comes to get up, but the shadow of his assaulter comes barreling in his direction. Surprised, Castiel watches in silence as the larger man in the Santa Hat reaches to his knees, clawing up on his thighs before the angel can say anything. Struck with the physical contact, Castiel can only watch as the male crawls on his lap, his gigantic cock slapping down Castiel’s stomach, leaking and upright, brimming and hot. Castiel stares in confusion.

That’s something very _unhygienic._

The angel stares at looking quite impressed, then up at the man who is still looking at him with his lust filled eyes, dark and horny. Castiel’s skin crawls when the man reaches on the lapel of his trench coat and jerks him, up and dives for a kiss.

But Castiel is everything including vigilant. He can feel the threat of the pagan lurking around and knows he cannot afford being distracted. He sees the man’s open mouth directly towards him and avoids it easily with a little sway of his head. He feels the dancer’s mosuth awkwardly land on his neck. Castiel grits his teeth when teeth sink in. Castiel does not make a sound, except the wild man is making all the noises he wants to next to his ear. The angel did not move though, the growing presence of the Bertha drawing closer—he needs to know what’s drawing it.

To Castiel’s irritation, the man above him begins to fumble on his belt, eager to unbutton and unzip his pants for the touch on the angel’s own limb.

“Smell so sweet, you look like you’re all lonely. C’mon I’ll make you feel good.” The man rasps on the angel’s ear, nipping on his earlobes to which Castiel finds extremely distasteful. The man continued his dirty litanies and Castiel just stays frozen when the bulky man gets ripped away from his shoulders by none other than Dean.

“Hey”! the hunter growls angrily, eyes falling on Castiel’s ripped front shirt with buttons undone, then to his unzipped pants. Their eyes meet, Castiel still speechless, Dean a bad storm. Something in Dean’s green eyes seem to snap into focus.

“What the hell, Cas!?”

“Dean—it’s here—” Castiel begins, sitting up unmindful of his appearance, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear.

_“I told you not to let anyone touch you!”_

“We’re on a case, you think that’s my priority?” he doesn’t mention how Dean is doing the exact opposite. Instead Castiel clamps his mouth shut. Dean looks at him like Castiel just grew a second head or something, his green eyes filling with hurt. His wild expression turns mildly into irritation as he leans down to zip the angel’s fly a little excessive on force.

For a fraction of a second, Castiel forgets to breathe at the sudden graze of Dean’s hand on his bulging groin. He knows he isn’t supposed to be affected, but this is Dean. Castiel’s body has always been reacting to him ever since their time in hell. Whether Castiel did a conscious choice on that, he knows

Dean surveys him, all bossy.

“Get up, we’re getting’ out of here.”

“Hey, can’t you see we’re having fun here?” Comes the giant man standing up from where he is thrown, the crowd still halfway making their dance, a couple of people already staring.

Castiel knows what’s going to happen before it did. The man takes Dean’s shoulder to pull him, but Dean’s stormy expression is telling. Green eyes flashing, the hunter sways, then smacks the man in the jaw with his fist with a shattering sound.

“Hands off.” Dean growls, eyes devilishly sharp. “He’s mine.”

The man falls down groaning in pain. That’s when the crowd notice the commotion and begins backing away, others calling for attention and then men in their tight t-shirt pours in, all heading towards Dean. Castiel mentally flounders as Dean takes his arms and pulls him up.

“We’re not done.”

Castiel wants to say the same.

“Hey, you!” comes the raging voices of the guards.

Castiel is not having any of that. He pulls himself up with the same rigidity and all the lights in the club exploded. Screams fill the air, then stampede, but Castiel already has his arm around Dean’s shoulder, ushering him out of the pandemonium on to the silent corridor, but Castiel did not stop. He takes note of the creeping feeling following him out of the club room, all the way to the hallway heading straight to the back door. Dean promptly follows his guidance, trusting Castiel’s instincts, not asking any questions except this urgent one—

“Is it following us?”

“Yes.” Castiel confirms. He doesn’t need to look back to know what’s behind them. It’s been upon them the moment Dean strikes the unknown Santa back. It gets Castiel thinking of the finite possibilities of why a pagan god would now be following them—Dean specifically. It was just in a blink of an eye, but he was certain the pagan monster was after the other Santa. Is it the costume? Dean’s barely wearing anything now, he’s butt-naked in front of Castiel, on his ridiculous white shoes and nothing to save him from watchful eyes. Castiel really tries hard not to get distracted.

Sounds of metal jingling. Castiel stops and pulls Dean back to him.

“Dean.”

“What? Hey—”

Castiel gathers Dean hands to his, and raises it to his eyes level. He narrows his eyes intently, then Dean sucks air when the angel begins ripping the wreaths from his wrists in agitation.

“What the fuck—Cas?!” Dean gasps when the angel continues to pull on his wrists band to no avail. It frustrates Castiel because not even his angel strength can remove it.

“It’s the wreaths! Remove them!” the angel snarls, leaning on Dean’s right hand. “Who gave this to you?” Cas really tries, but Dean’s fully erect brought upon by the excitement of running to the back of the club is just there for him to take. The angel swallows.

“Wha—I don’t know, there were just many of them on the basket and this chick is handing it out to all the dancers.”

“And you never learn not to accept gifts from the Greeks?”

“Stop quoting, just fucking remove it, okay?”

“It won’t budge.” Cas sighs, straightening and looking helplessly at Dean, panic stricken but not allowing it to affect his tone. It’s of import to take the rein of one’s emotion during trying times. Castiel swallows and faces the hunter.

“It’s sealed and only your death can break it.” Dean swears.

“Oh, great, I do a little bad thing for Santa and now I’m stuck with another curse? Do I need to die for it?”

“No.” Castiel says tersely, looking around, heart pounding because no way in his bible he will leave Dean to his fate. “There has to be away. This kind of curse can only be casted by a—”

_“Witch, right._ It surprising how quick you are in figuring it out.”

Castiel automatically pushes Dean behind him, shielding his delicate body from any attack. The hunter hides not because he’s afraid, but because he’s all naked behind Castiel. The two stares at the new comer standing by the gate of the back door, watching them with interest.

Petit with auburn hair, and dangerously sapphire eyes, Castiel doesn’t know her, but she’s obviously foreign. German now that he understands. The way Dean growls with both hands grasping Castiel’s shoulder as if both to pull the angel back to stop him attacking or simply planning to push him away in case they really get attacked.

“Knew it was that bitchy smirk, I can smell you from across the room.” Dean throws, with Castiel raising an arm halfway to shield him further. The witch smirks, then raises an eyebrow, trying to see over Dean.

“Says the jerk leaking behind his boyfriend. Want some help with that, it looks painfully big?”

“No, thank you. Wouldn’t let a helping hand to someone who can damage the goods.” Dean sneers. In response, Castiel removes his trench coat and wraps it in front of Dean, piercing blue eyes at the enemy.

Dean blinks, even blushes and thanked him, before slipping inside the trench coat, tying the belt closely to his erection to save himself some dignity during the fight.

“You are the one controlling the Bertha?” Castiel says gravelly, now able to concentrate on the witch with Dean secured behind him. “Into killing people. Why?”

The witch shrugs. “It’s hungry. It’s got to eat.”

“Why male strippers?” Dean barks, stepping beside Cas, not wanting to be left out. Castiel doubles back when he sees Dean in the light of the street lamp wrapped in his trench coat tight. Somehow, it’s difficult to pull his eyes away from that view. And Dean’s naked underneath.

“Why not?” she replies candidly, “My pet is only around during the holidays, better feed it with you know… their kind?”

“Ah, witch and homophobic.” Dean grins with both words coming as insult, “What’s got your panties all hung up? Your Mr. Darcy turned out to be a missus?”

“Dean.” Castiel narrows his eyes, his senses heightening at the coldness of the atmosphere. He lets the hunter take the attention because that’s what Dean’s good at too, take attention while his back up snatches the first move. They hate dealing with witches, they’re always a big bag of bad trouble.

Dean doesn’t turn to him but smugly smiles to the young witch who steps closer.

“Doesn’t make a difference now, does it? He’s serving sentence in hell and his flesh’s been served to Mr. Friskee so…”

“Mr. Friskee?” Dean shakes his head. Castiel stares in mid-air.

“Dean…” the angel breathes—then things spiral down as Castiel throws himself in front of the hunter, seemingly tackling something invisible. Dean is shouting around him, and then there’s shuffle of feet. The angel doesn’t know—couldn’t see Dean from his peripheral, but he’s got hold of the monster’s neck. He can see it clear as daylight, it’s horrible features can be left for imagination, flesh and raw and wounded. He can feel its body pulsating on his arms as he crushes it with his strength. He doesn’t know yet how to help Dean with the wreaths, but he will make sure the witch will regret ever having put Dean in that position.

The angel hears a growl, not from the monster underneath but from Dean. Castiel hastens a look around and sees Dean rolling on the floor. Gritting his teeth, the angel tightens his hold on the angel blade he extracted from the coat before aiming for the creature’s heart.

Except it isn’t easy. Castiel struggles with the creature’s monstrous power and blade falls on the floor. Castiel is also thrown across the wall where he angrily rises, seeing the monster angling on Dean.

Dean’s having a hard time dealing with the witch, but he isn’t defenseless. Castiel sees him clutching tight on an improvise metal weapon he must’ve grabbed from the broken metal fences behind the next building. Castiel wastes no time. Taking his angel blade, he tackles the monster, this time succeeding in stabbing it in the back.

The growl is followed by a gunshot. Castiel turns sharply like a taut rubber band and snaps in Dean’s direction where he sees the hunter fall down the ground.

_“Dean!”_

* * *

“Here, let me.” Castiel offers, touching Dean’s forehead and releasing the man’s body from pain. Dean shakes his head, hands clutching on the impala as he mutters his thanks. Castiel looks all over his body, checking anything he missed, any injuries not showing even if he’s healed, touched and double checked the hunter for the third time.

They stayed inside the impala even when they’ve already parked the car just outside their room number.

“You okay, Dean?” Castiel asks, glancing at his friend still wearing his trench coat.

“I’m fine.” Dean mutters, flexing his shoulder. “Your hands are really good, Cas.”

“That was very reckless, Dean.” Cas admonishes, cleaning himself up from blood and resewing his thorn shirt and tie. “Jumping from that height, where did you get the witch killing gun?”

“I always have witch-killing gun.” The hunter taps his finger on the steering wheel quietly but the way he keeps biting his lips is telling of an intent.

Castiel ignores that because Dean has to understand how very nearly in danger his life had been. Just because the Winchesters are living precarious lives doesn’t mean they should keep on taking it for granted.

“Where did you pull it from?”

“My side.” Dean faces him now, and Castiel hates how adoringly intoxicating his smile can be. One of the perks with being with Dean, why he stays with Dean. Dean is always a bottle of not-giving-up-crap energy. Castiel learns that from him.

“You were naked then.” Cas points out.

“You gave me your coat.”

Castiel purses his lips. “I can assure you, I do not have any witch killing bullets in my possession at the time—” whatever the angel has to say next was interrupted with the buzz of his phone.

Castiel blinks. Dean stares at him too, then the hunter slowly reaches out to the inner pocket of Castiel’s trench coat and pull out his phone. Castiel’s blue eyes flicker in alarm.

He raises a hand to take it from Dean who’s staring at the name on the screen.

“Dean…” Cas begins, seeing the muscle working on the hunter’s jawline. He can see Dean’s pretty lips curl, can see the scowl form in his face. Castiel stretches out for his phone.

“Who’s Greeves?”

Despite being Dean Winchester, Castiel has learned to keep secrets to himself especially when desperate to hide a secret from the people he least wants to be found.

“A friend of mine. Can I get my phone back?”

Dean curses so loud, it rattles the inside of the impala. Even Castiel freezes, especially when Dean snaps open his side of the door, walks around the car to the passenger’s seat and is pulling Castiel out after him.

“Dean—” the angel tries, but the man just throws the still vibrating phone to the backseat, shut the door close, and is dragging Castiel towards the hotel room. Castiel can’t help looking back at the car, the turning of keys not registering, until he is pulled inside and gets slammed on the back of the closing door.

Those green eyes are piercing and hard, filled with rage and fire directed at the angel for some reason. Castiel isn’t afraid of Dean, but he’s afraid of what _he, Castiel,_ might do if Dean forces him to. Dean’s pink lips are inches from him, palms extended to the door behind him, trapping the angel easily. If this was any other kind of battle, Castile would have been struggling to survive, but since it’s Dean, Castiel finds himself breathing hard in the same pattern as the man, whose other hand is pressing on his forearm tightly.

Distracted by their proximity, not to mention, Dean still in his coat, Castiel meets Dean’s eyes. “Dean, let’s talk—”

Hot searing mouth wraps on his lips. Castiel groans at the pressure he found crushing lips, waking every sleeping muscles and tendons and ringing alarms in his head.

_Dean’s mouth on his… Dean’s kissing him… Dean’s lips…_

Castiel responds with opening his mouth willingly, letting Dean’s tongue explore the hot entrance. The angel groans another, closing his eyes at the tumult of sensation his body is experiencing. Dean’s pressing hard on him all of a sudden, all inches of space around their body forgotten as the hunter put both his elbows around the angel’s head and kiss him with visceral need. Castiel can’t help the whimper and the shaky breath that jumps from his throat to his nose. He can’t remember being kissed like this by anyone—no. No one’s ever kissed him like they’ve forgotten how to.

Dean drinks him in, igniting Castiel’s body to boiling point, making want to have more contact on their lower region, feeling Dean pressing his hips hard as he could. He takes Dean’s body to him, pulls him for purchase as their kiss lasted more than a minute, to five, to more. Dean moves his head to the kiss, his bulge onto Castiel’s, both aware Dean’s naked underneath the trench coat.

The sudden thought of Dean naked inside the coat has the angel’s breathing sharply hitching. Dean doesn’t let off as he keens their mouths, tongues sliding in and out, meeting and lapping, sucking and making hungry noises in the air. Castiel knees weakens, but found himself unable to pull from the kiss too. He doesn’t need to breathe, but boy is he breathless when Dean pulls up, inhaling erratically while Cas nips on his bottom lip, catching it with his teeth and licking Dean’s swollen lips.

“Dean…” Castiel whimpers, clawing at Dean’s sides. The hunter pulls up, green eyes all rapt in attention. Castiel looks up at him through his long eyelashes.

“You like that, Cas?” Dean suddenly flares with flash of anger in his green eyes that surprises the angel, “You wanna be fucked so bad you let anyone touch you?”

Castiel blinks stupidly at the hunter, then slides his fingers at the back of Dean’s head, taking possessing of his hair as he pulls Dean close to another warm kiss, afraid that Dean will choose to stop. Castiel can’t. He’s already too hard.

“What are you talking about, you’re the one floundering your naked ass on a stage.” He whispers on Dean’s ears.

“I was undercover!”

“I didn’t come there as a choice either, but as an agent, therefore I too am undercover.” Castiel stops kissing Dean and puts his hands between them before he is pushing Dean away with a dangerous glint in his blue eyes. “Stop being a hypocrite, Dean.”

“I—what?”

“If you were going to be so jealous, why didn’t you just tie me on that chair as well and wiggled your penis in my face? It could have saved us this unsavory ending.”

“What ending?” Dean steps closer and presses Castiel back on the wall, his hands wrapping on the angel’s elbows, not letting go. “We’re not gonna end, fuck I’m not going to end anything—I want you, Cas! So bad, only you! A-are you planning on ending…?”

“Of course not.” Castiel stares hard at the hunter, glad to see relief washed on Dean’s face the instant. “I don’t know what got you so riled up, but I assure you Dean, you’re the only one meant for me. You’re the one I want. If you’ll have me.”

_“Fuck yes, Cas!”_

Castiel beams. “Then for starters, you look good in my coat.”

Dean practically slots his tongue on Cas’ open mouth, kissing deeply and with much desire, their hands finally entwining. Castiel catches Dean’s lower lips between his teeth and likened the strong current and moan it elicited from his hunter. Dean growls, then his hands are slipping inside, unbuckling the angel’s pants and pushing it down past his knee. He takes Cas’ hard length in his hands, palming it, feeling it tense in his warm hands. Then he takes it out fully from Cas’ undergarment, hefting it, feeling it, stroking it slowly, thumb by the head, then Dean works furiously with his hands, bringing Castiel to the edge almost twice, pressing the angel hard on the door.

“Dean…!” Cas groans, head rolling back, fingers digging on the meat of the hunter’s forearms. Dean doesn’t let up as he strokes Castiel’s cock, the angel’s usually gravelly voice all ruined and pleading as he let Dean take him again to a spasm of orgasm, only to stop again. Castiel’s face is all flushed and looking ruined, lips wet and red, swollen in all sides. Dean has undone most of the button of his shirt so he appears so enticingly wreck with his pants down. Dean likes what he sees and licks on Castiel’s lips again.

“Don’t let anyone touch you here, only me… this is mine, Cas…” Dean drags his teeth on Castiel’s earlobes, nipping on his sensitive neck, teeth grazing marks on the white region.

“You’re gonna have to tell me your stripping history if I want to compete.”

Dean intentionally takes his palms upward to the angel’s shoulder so he is practically pushing the opened buttoned shirt down Castiel’s shoulder, leaving the angel’s tie hanging lose on his middle. Castiel waits as Dean shoves the shirt backwards, but doesn’t continue. Frowning, Castiel then realizes what Dean is planning to do when he gets turned backwards facing the door.

“I’ll tell ya anything you like so long as you’re mine. Are you mine, Cas?” Dean ties the long white sleeve around the angel’s wrists from the back to hold him captive. Castiel feels delightedly consumed by Dean’s attention.

“I’m yours.” He whispers, forehead on the cool window.

Then Castiel makes an embarrassing yelp when Dean pulls his hips out, bend him down and begins licking his ass. Castiel sighs into Dean’s touches, licking his hole, slapping his ass, and basically still reaching down to stroke Cas even when his hands are full already. His white shirt tightly binding his arms, the angel can only moan and cry as Dean breaks him apart. He can’t control the instinct to trust back on Dean’s tongue. Playing in him, tasting him, wrecking him, until Castile is all undone.

Warm spots all around his body, his ass, the curve of his rib cages, his ass. Dean’s exploratory hands do not just stop taking care of one or two. All his hands are all over Castiel like he’s starving for all his skin. The angel can burst as the glowing sun by this time. He finds he loves Dean’s touches. He wants more, much more.

When the warm mouth disappears, Castiel cries in protest, wanting the contact to last, especially with his orgasm still not happening. He whimpers at the fifth need to release, halting again when Dean stops. Castiel swears angrily. Indignantly. He didn’t think there’d be anyone who’d rejoice in his suffering. Least of all Dean.

But when Dean finger fucks him to open him with cool gel penetrating deep inside Cas, all the angel’s complaints disappear, filling with desire as knuckles continue to breach his tightness. A whimper escapes his lips, his body trembling at each assault and scissors in his hole. But Dean is always gentle and beautiful as he prepares Castiel.

At one point, Castiel doesn’t remember, but he supposes he cried out to Dean, begging him for the release. The hunter kisses his shoulders, and then pull Castiel back towards the bed where Dean pushes him down. Castiel falls on his back, quickly feeling Dean’s strong palms on his thighs, spreading him open.

“Dean…I want you…” Castiel whined, struggling in all sense to keep his ass low when Dean leans to take a pillow from beside the bed.

“I know babe, hang on.” Dean says, placing the pillow beneath Castiel’s lower back. His hot palms land on the angel’s hot erection, thick and throbbing as it lay erotically on the angel’s belly. Dean’s eyes only dim on it hungrily as he strokes it with reverence.

“You’re so hot, Cas… I want to always have you like this.”

“Dean…” Castiel rasps, “Wear the hat.”

“What?”

_‘Wear the damn Santa hat, please! I kept it in my pocket…”_

Dean struggles to understand, and when he did, he pulls the Santa hat from one of the trench coat’s many pockets.

“You’re supposed to be tellin me about lubrication and condom, Cas.” he lets the trenchcoat fall on the floor.

“I do not require them.” Castiel looks at Dean through half lidded eyes. “I’m ready for you, Dean.” A brief pause as green and blue exchange. Castiel wouldn’t mind looking at Dean from this angel at all. The hat is a consolation.

Dean’s hold on his ankles tighten as he drags the angel’s legs impossibly wider. Castiel shut his eyes close, feeling as if he’d be releasing something without Dean having to touch him there. Dean seats himself next to Castiel’s ass, his hard shaft slapping on the angel’s thigh, rubbing the tip of his leaking cock to the angel’s hot rim.

Castiel bites his lips, eyes rolling.

“Dean…”

“I hear you, babe. I love you, all I want is you. Be mine, babe.”

Dean sinks in him and Castiel has to bite on his left finger as he withed in pain and pleasure before Dean slowly finds his rhythm.

“Cas… _fuck…fuck… your tight… so good form…fuck…”_ coming out strained, Dean fully sheaths himself in, then drags it out, sighing with eyes lust blown.

Castiel doesn’t know what to expect. He adjusts his ass to a lesser uncomfortable position, then feels Dean sinks in deeper again. It’s a drag of smooth skin driving smoothly in his channel that Cas can’t help groaning. Dean curses, opening his eyes to watch Castiel’s wreckage. The angel opens his eyes instinctively and catches Dean’s eyes staring at him, eyeing him up like a predator on prey, unwholesome and wanting. Dean wants him, Castiel understands. Dean really wants him. The moan that escapes both their lips as Dean begins to move is heavenly. Dean fucks him hard, then changes his position, and fucks Castiel again. The drag of his cock in and out, the sound of their skin slapping amidst the silent night, Castiel’s filthy moans and Dean’s possessive growls of ecstasy all filled their ears as the hunter gears forward an bottom out again and again.

He pounds and grinds inside the angel, pushing him halfway the bed until his head is hitting the head board. Dean loves the way he is marking Castiel’s delicate skin, all red in the ass, the angel’s leaking cock on his clutch, Castiel crying every time he is stopped from coming. It’s a glorious sex Dean seems to have only thought in dreams.

“Oh, so hot for me… and so tight…” Dean whispers, covering his entire body on Castiel’s chest and fucking him to abandon. Castiel’s toes curl, his damp face filled with tears and sweat rolling back, his spine arching as Dean pounds on his prostrate.

“Oh, Dean… let me come, please…”

“I got you.” Dean says, pulling out from Dean in a single motion, and then taking Dean’s throbbing length in his mouth. Tasting the leak, dragging his mouth across the length, making the angel really shed tears and stop breathing for full half a minute as Dean works him with his mouth. He drags his tongue on the slit of the head, then sucks Castiel dry, stroking the angel’s balls and sinking it deep down his throat.

Castiel is delicious. His cum tastes like mint. Dean doesn’t think he’d let go of Castel anymore as he makes the angel cry out and dries him up, helping himself a he drinks the angel full. Castiel’s afterglow expression is everything Dean lived for.

An hour later, Castiel drags himself up and down Dean’s length as the angel straddles the hunter beneath him. It’s Dean’s turn to writhe as Castiel fucks himself on Dean’s hard cock. He leans down to kiss Dean, but he likes it best when he pushes down, taking everything Dean is giving, and then watch the man’s expression shift from blown away to mouth opening scream.

Dean doesn’t last long. He rides his orgasm with Castiel tight inside him.

Its heavenly love making. Dean is huge and filling his insides too much. Castiel clings to him for life support as the next hours before Christmas with his hot Santa with only his hat fucks him, kisses him, holds him on the wall, bend him—all happening in the span of ten hours that by the time Cas is satisfied, Dean is all sore and sleeping.

The Santa hat forgotten on the floor.

* * *

“I was planning to get you all a present today, but Harvey says the store delivery couldn’t do it. We have to drive all the way to the store to take it.” Castiel informs Dean on Christmas morning while the two of them are in the Bunker, sipping their coffee and feasting on the pancake Dean so provided.

“I don’t mind, it’s not that cold outside. This the buddy you had been calling?” Dean says, glancing at Castiel who nods briefly. “No wonder the presents are not yet delivered when we came this morning.”

They arrive in the house exactly ten in the morning with Sam raising both eyebrows at them. Dean dismisses him with a shrug while Castiel had a bit of a hard time not going into details. It’s already eleven thirty and they’re just taking their smuch-rewarded coffee.

“Where’d you meet him?” Dean throws in, trying to sound nonchalant.

“In the Department store where I bought the gifts. He’s extremely nice. Even helped me with Sam’s gift cause they’re almost the same size.” Castiel gives Dean a long look after a moment of silence. He knows exactly what’s on Dean’s mind as he brought the cup of coffee down the table.

“I’m not having infidelity issues, Dean.”

Dean smiles. “Like you can resist me. This is my charm, angels come back to me.”

“I’d like to see them come back now.” Castiel primly says, then feels Dean round around him to wrap both arms around his waist. Dean kisses his neck and sighs.

“I’m so happy you’re mine, Cas.”

“You had me from the beginning, Dean.” Turning his body, he faces the hunter and smiles on the kiss they lightly share. “Just I know you get jealous most of the time, but Dean, I’m already yours so all you have to do is trust me.”

Dean hums, still eyes glued on his angel boyfriend, their nose brushing as he nods.

“Alright. I’ll be a good jealous man, won’t strike anyone without asking you if I could. Won’t make conclusion base on what I see without asking you, right?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“So uhmmm…” Dean shifts under Castiel’s gaze.

“What is it, Dean?” Castiel blinks, “You’re not planning to return to the strip club, are you?”

“That’s not it exactly,” Dean looks down a little embarrass, hen pulls a gift from under the table. “For you. I was supposed to use it to tease you coz you know, you hate Santa and all that.”

“I don’t hate him. Just had a hard time believing in him.” Cas traces the box with a grin spreading on his face.

“Can I open it?”

“Sure. I just figured; you might like it better now…

“Dean…” Cas stares at the complete set of Santa Class robe for him. _A sexy female Santa Claus._ That is. He raises it up, exactly as Sam comes around yawning and catching a glimpse of the gift.

“What… you got Cas the wrong item already, Dean?” the younger Winchester chuckles as he heads for the sink to drink water.

“Not really.” Dean says, exchanging affectionate look with the angel. “That’s for Cas.”

“But that’s for—” Sam turns absentmindedly at them, but then seems to realize something, then snaps his head back to the very short minis skirt that probably won’t cover half the angel’s ass. “For real?”

“It’s mine.” Castiel nods firmly, making Sam sputter nonsense while Dean grins wide.

_“Merry Christmas.”_

**Author's Note:**

> What Dean said! :D


End file.
